What Happened In Paradise?

Home: In Another World

Beads of sweat wash Maxwell’s face, moistening his pillow. He pushes the sheet back then tosses the pillow to the side. With his eyes still closed, he feels around for the AC remote. The room is filled with the hum of the unit though it isn’t doing much to keep him cool. Maxwell doesn’t feel the remote on the bed; he rolls to the other side, to check his end table. Maxwell squeezes his temples, trying to contain the pressure building in his head. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths before he moves again.

The end table isn’t tucked in the space between the wall and his bed; it’s on the other side, between his closet and his bed. He doesn’t remember moving it. His closet is open, his clothes pushed back, creating an opening in the centre where there is a mirror.

That’s new.

Maxwell runs through a list of symptoms in his head. Is the headache a 5 or a 7? It was more pressure than an ache and now it’s gone. He’ll make an appointment to visit the doctor. The remote isn’t there but his phone is on his end-table. Is it his phone? It’s the same brand and number as his phone. The phone is brand new; a memory tells Maxwell that the screen should be cracked. The memory doesn’t offer him anything else. It should be a few days after New Year’s...he thinks. His phone says it’s June. His thumbprint opens the phone, so it must be his. He’s in the middle of the date and time settings when he hears the police. The knock and the call send his heart racing.

“I’m coming,” he calls out in response.

Halfway to the door, he feels the weight of the phone in his hand. All his conversations with Adam come rushing back to him, triggering the return of the pressure in his head. Maxwell tosses the phone on the bed. That doesn’t seem like the right spot. He moves it to the end table. Maybe it’s best to leave the phone in the drawer. He bends, opens the drawer; a glint at the base of the lamp catches his eyes. Maxwell takes up the ring and twirls it around his index finger. What’s he doing with a ring? He isn’t seriously dating...or casually dating anyone. The banging gets so loud Maxwell wonders if the police are trying to break it down with a battering ram. He drops the phone, the ring in the drawer; he pushes it close and rushes to the door.

“Yea. I’m here.”

Civilian clothes and a smile; Maxwell relaxes a little. The squat man flashes Maxwell a badge. Tension returns to Maxwell’s back and shoulders. He looks left and right, the hallway is empty. He widens his stance at the door and waits for the detective to speak again.

“Detective...P...Persad...Guber Persad. Are you Maxwell Grant?”

You’re at my door. You should know who I am, Maxwell wants to say. Adam is in his head again, so instead, Maxwell says, “Yea, that’s me. How can I help you, detective?”

“We’ve been looking for you.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“And your friends. We’ve been looking for you for months.”

“And why is that?” Maxwell clears his throat. “Sir.”

“We sometimes do that when people have been reported missing.”

The detective is expressing the irritation Maxwell is trying to swallow; Maxwell searches carefully for his next words. “Missing? Who reported me missing? Someone at school? One of the kids must have played a prank. I’m sorry they wasted your time. I’ll speak to them about it.”

Maxwell reaches for the door; the detective steps forward.

“Listen, Max - “

“It’s Maxwell.”

“Max, Maxwell, whatever. Just tell me when your other friends get back.”

“Back from where?” The vacation. “Oh. We came back together.” Maxwell vaguely remembers boarding a flight to Water Island. They left together. The plan was for them to return together. He’s back, so they must be too.

“Don’t be a wise guy. I don’t know what type of games you guys are playing, but I don’t have time for it.”

“I...I…” Maxwell's mouth hangs on a word.

“I knew it.” The detective shakes his head. “The next time you and your friends want a break from reality…” -He flexes his fingers, forming air quotes- “...let your parents know so they do not cause a panic.” The detective steps back, widening the distance between him and Maxwell. “We have actual cases to pursue.”

Slowly, Maxwell pieces details together. A ten-day trip isn’t a break from reality and his father has long been dead and his mother has been missing for years.

“My mother is missing, most likely dead,” Maxwell says just as the detective turns to leave. “She’s one of those cases you’re supposedly working on.”

“Ah. Right. The girl’s mother.”

The detective leaves Maxwell lingering in his doorway. His mind is in a fog. He has no solid memory of their so-called break from reality. He doesn’t even know what time he went to bed the night before, or if he went to bed. Perhaps he’s dead. Images and details emerge from the fog at different moments; his only hope is to piece these things together. He returns to his room for the ring.

The diamond is heart-shaped and large. By the looks of it, Maxwell could afford it if he starved and slept on the street for three months. The light penetrating the window blinds isn’t enough. Maxwell turns on the lamp and holds the ring up to the bulb. Be my forever, Step, the engraving reads. He thinks of Stephanie as more of a princess cut, though he shouldn’t be thinking about the type of engagement ring Stephanie would like.

What’s going on?

His work clothes are hung on one side of his closet; everything else is on the other. In the space between - and fixed to the wall of the closet - is a mirror. He’s back to his childhood, sneaking into his parent’s closet and stuffing his chubby feet into his father’s shoes. Maxwell pulls on a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. He’ll start with Stephanie.

On his way out, he remembers to grab his coat.